


Your ex is dead

by Veraverorum (your_Mother)



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, M/M, Near Death Experience, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_Mother/pseuds/Veraverorum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dwalin, this is Nori. Nori, this is Thorin's friend, Dwalin,” Bilbo said as a way to introduce them.</p><p>It had already been 5 years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your ex is dead

**Author's Note:**

> Before beginning, I must warn you this story hints about alcohol abuse, illegal stuff, presumed cheating, other kinds of abuse and everything bad.  
> And involuntary - but not so sure about it - near death experience. Mostly, I wanted to explore the desire of self destruction and marking a memory generated from break up.  
> Modern AU, no dwarves.
> 
> Beta-ed by Lacertae on AO3 (who thought this story is way too sad)

“Dwalin, this is Nori. Nori, this is Thorin's friend, Dwalin,” Bilbo said as a way to introduce them.

The two acted like perfectly civilized people. Extended their hands and shook them, gave some circumstantially acquiescence and all other kinds of pleasantries of sorts, like ‘Bilbo, your cat really likes my pants but I don't think red fur matches black jeans all that well’ or ‘I see you've come around to finally repaint that door!’.

After Bilbo offered a bottle of beer to each of them, the blond man returned to entertain other guests of the party that he and his boyfriend were offering in their spacious apartment.

The two men were left alone in an awkward silence.

It had already been 5 years.

Both remained with their backs pressed against the wall, looking vaguely awkward; the distance between them made it seem like this was their first meeting, but the slight shifting of their shoulders said something else –some kind of uncomfortable familiarity that was best kept concealed.

They continued sipping from the bottles and alternated that with glancing at each other from the corner of their eyes.

“You're still limping.” at last, Dwalin started a conversation.

“Yeah. You know, that's not the kind of limp you recover from.”

“You should use a crutch.”

“I've got one. Is in the closet.” Nori pointed towards it with his bottle.

Dwalin pondered on why Fate always acted like a bitch toward him. He had arrived at the party per Thorin’s invitation, greeted his friends and chatted up with them a bit; there had also been other people he hadn’t known lounging around, and he scanned their faces, in search of some friendly ones, and then… his eyes had landed on him.

Russet hair in a long braid, nice beard and vivacious grey eyes. And Dwalin too was being looked at.  
It was that instant that Fate, under the form of one Bilbo Baggins, decided to turn that evening into the re-enacting of some kind of tragedy.

The blond man noticed Dwalin’s interest in the person on the other side of the room, so he took hold of his arm and impressively (though not so much, since he was used to interact with brute men already) guided him through the room to the other man, taking his arm as well and setting aside a space just for the three of them.

Then he disappeared again, lost in the crowd of the guests.

“I didn't know.”

“Neither did I.”

“What?!” the bald man almost chocked on his beer.

“I didn't know you knew Bilbo and the others. It was not in my plans to come here tonight and find you,” the other answered quietly, his eyes lost as he stared emptily in front of himself, maybe looking at another place, in another time.

There was, once, a different story.

There were two men, both tall, one bald with a long, dark beard and covered in tattoos, and one with flowing reddish hair and equally fiery beard, always dressed in black leather.

The two were in a lovely relationship. It started out of nowhere and it only grew stronger with the passing of time, despite the differences between them.

One drank coffee, the other tea. One lived in an apartment and worked as a policeman, the other came and went as he pleased, not giving any explanation on his whereabouts.

They were opposites but accepted their diversities, always compromising.

The two men loved taking long walks around the city, discussing what was in their minds and stopping in some chain-store like Starbucks 'but not Starbucks, you really don't want to mingle with all those youngster, old man' just to pick up some supplies.

They loved ordering their take away food, one Greek one Chinese, and watch reruns of not-at-all funny shows on the sofa while eating from the cartons.

They also did a lot more than just watch programs rerun on that couch. And on the kitchen table, on the bathroom sink, against the window that faced the main street. Sometimes they also saw the bed.

They were opposites but they didn't accept their contrasts, sometimes fighting.

One hated not knowing where the other went when he disappeared without warning. Maybe he was betraying him with someone else, maybe he was involved in something illegal. And he hated the small imperfections, like the mud on the soles of his combat boots, leaving tracks of dirt all over the hallway, ‘well you’re not the one cleaning this damn place, are you?!’ and the many empty bottles of alcohol decorating their flat.

The other hated the constant worry he endured while his lover was working, never knowing if there would come a day when his lover would not return home. He always felt faint at the thought of having to recognise his drilled corpse at the obituary; and he hated all the minor faults, like the barrel of a gun that greeted him when he came home in the middle of the night. Or the many tattoos that covered the other man’s body, everywhere on his person, ‘oh, and what the hell does that one even mean? You really needed that, old man?!’

They argued a lot, in the kitchen, at the doorway, in their bedroom. Sometimes even in the streets.

One night that involved too many drinks and to many hurtful words, that was when the course of this story changed.

Dwalin literally threw out Nori from their apartment, after they had vomited out scathing words and their minds out during an altercation, bitter and naked.

Dwalin shut all the locks of the door, even if he knew that the other man could always find a way to open any closed door, and then went to bed.

In the mornings there was no lump sleeping on the couch. Truthfully, he did not expect to see Nori back soon, and was relieved. His heart was still raw from the abuse given and taken.

He went to work. He returned home. All was silent. He ordered some take away and ate it in front of the telly. Then his hand-phone rang. Unknown ID.

“Dwalin here, who it is?”

“It's Dori, Nori's brother,” Dwalin remembered him mentioned in some old conversations. “Listen closely and pay attention, I'm not going to repeat myself twice. Tonight Nori was involved in a car accident. He's at the hospital now. Pharmacological coma. Head trauma and a leg fractured in various points. The doctors said the percentage of alcohol in his blood was too elevated. His car is a wreck. Luckily no one else was involved. I know you and him fought constantly. I know how he gets at times. Now is your only chance to tell me he didn't act as stupid as I think he has.”

“I... He really...” Dwalin couldn't find the words to explain what the hell was happening.

“So he has. Ok.” A long breath. “I'll be grateful to you if from now on, you'll not come in contact with my brother. No visits, no calls. Disappear from his life. You're not healthy for him and I could certainly say the same thing about him for you. Tell me when you're home and I'll come pick up whatever he has left there.”

The resignation in both their voices gave a final meaning to the call and that period of their life.

Afterwards, Dwalin never tried searching for Nori, and Nori did the same.

And now here they were again, in the present, backs pressed to the wall, awkward in the presence of the other.

“So, how are you faring?”

“Got a limp that comes with a crutch.” Nori sighed. “Could not expect anything better after what happened. I remained watching my car burn for 20 minutes before a passer-by spotted me and called for an ambulance that night. It was satisfying, the fire.”

“You're a bit of a psycho.”

“You know what they say. Better to have loved and lost than to live with the psycho forever.” Nori sipped his beer, than continued. “I did wait for you. To come visit me at the hospital. To visit later at my brother's house. To find me somewhere, even in a dark alley if that was what it would take. I wanted to see you again so much. I would have repented whatever sin I had committed against you, even if I didn't know it. But you never showed up… beside in my dreams.”

“Neither did you,” Dwalin responded, taken aback by the confession. “You never searched for me. You know where I live, where I work.”

“Would have you talked to me?”

Dwalin did not answer, contemplating the absurdity of the situation.

“Yeah, so I thought,” Nori drank the last liquid in the bottle. “And what have you been up in all those years?”

“Nothing peculiar. Same old stuff mostly. I've a new tattoo. It's a magpie. Near my heart.”

Nori regarded him with knowing eyes.

“Do you need a ride back after the party?” Dwalin offered, trying to somewhat dispel the nostalgic feeling that surrounded them.

“No. I'm here with my boyfriend,” the other motioned with his bottle to the group of people he had been separated from at the beginning. “He's a beautiful person. I couldn't believe he would accept someone so damaged. He makes me happy, and funnily enough, I do the same for him.”

Nori put down the bottle on the nearest table, limping away before turning toward Dwalin again. “It was nice to make your acquaintance again, Dwalin. Good bye.”

The bald man watched a russet braid dance on a retreating back, making no move to follow.

Fate was a bitch.

**Author's Note:**

> Some ideas from other wonderful writers infiltrated in this work. I present a tribute to them then.
> 
> Title from the song Your ex-lover is dead by Stars


End file.
